


quia non rete accipitri tenditur neque miluo

by malkinisms (hannibalisms)



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: 5+1 Things, Birds, M/M, Ornithophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-17
Updated: 2014-01-17
Packaged: 2018-01-09 01:15:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1139704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannibalisms/pseuds/malkinisms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I wonder how he got that fear in the first place. Did a neon yellow canary named Henry break out of his cage during Show and Tell in school, sit down on his hair and refuse to move? Did Jonny, age 8, watch <i>The Birds</i> alone with his brother at night (it was a dare!) and then something THUDDED! against their window and they just started screaming? (The next day they found a bird corpse underneath that window, too.) Did he just fuck around on the internet one time and learned about the horrors of bird swooping season?</p><p>We just don’t know.</p><p><i>Or</i>, five times Jonathan Toews is afraid of birds, and one time he isn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	quia non rete accipitri tenditur neque miluo

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Arioch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arioch/gifts).



> _quia non rete accipitri tenditur neque miluo, qui male faciunt nobis: illis qui nihil faciunt tenditur._
>
>>  
>> 
>> **because the net is never spread for the hawk or the kite** , that do us the mischief; it is spread for those that do us none.
> 
> from _Phormio_ , by Publius Terentius Afer, 161 BCE
> 
> also [here](http://malkinisms.co.vu/post/73598047155/quia-non-rete-accipitri-tenditur-neque-miluo), on tumblr.

> _one._

Ava Gagnon brought a yellow canary in for show and tell when he was six.  Henry was sweet enough, letting them stick their fingers in the bars of his cage and rubbing against them, feathers soft and plush.

Ava told them how Henry wouldn't fly far from his cage, because she had trained him, and asked Miss if she could let him out for a little bit.

Miss had closed the door and made sure the windows were shut before giving Ava permission, which made everyone excited because a  _bird_.

Miss had said that she could catch Henry if she needed to, because she had a violet budgerigar named Celeste (which she then promised to bring in the next show and tell).

Ava had unlatched the door and Henry hopped out onto her shoulder, chirping, and the class had cooed - because he was a good bird and followed the rules!  Ava let him hop onto her hand and then asked Miss if he could sit on their shoulders, and Miss, being indulgent, had said yes.

Everything was going well until it was Jonny's turn.

He wasn't fond of birds; he didn't  _dislike_  them, but he liked dogs better.  Cats, too.

Henry hopped onto his shoulder and he flinched a little, because his little claws poked through his t-shirt. He could see Henry out of the corner of is eye, and he supposed that he was cute enough, for a bird, and he was certainly pretty.  Ava rubbed her finger on Henry's head and held out her hand for Henry to come back, but he  _didn't._

Henry, it seemed, was rather fond of Jonny.  He flapped his wings and lit to the top of Jonny's head, settling rather quickly, and Jonny was frozen still, because there was a  _bird_  on his  _head_  and the other kids were squealing with jealousy.

Jonny, on the other hand, was  _very dismayed_  by the turn of events.  He could  _feel_  Henry on his head and it made him pale and sweat and he was tempted, for a moment, to start screaming or run around or smack at his head.

Miss, sensing an imminent meltdown, rescued him and scooped Henry off his head as gently as she could manage, and helped Ava move on to the next child.

When his mother asked him about Ava and Henry, all he could do was shrug, and she took his silence as interest in birds.

She got him a [book about birds](http://www.amazon.com/National-Geographic-Guide-North-America/dp/1426310943/ref=sr_1_2?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1389920892&sr=1-2&keywords=north+american+birds) for Christmas.  He almost cried.

> _two_.

When he was 8 and David was 6, David  _somehow_  convinced him to watch  _The Birds_.  It must have been a dare ("I bet you're  _scared_ ," David had probably said) because he still remembered Henry the canary, but he wasn't about to be beaten by a  _six year old_.

It was fine until the birds broke into the Brenner's house and attacked Melanie.

There was a loud crash against their bedroom and both he and David started screaming, because  _something_  hit their window and they couldn't figure it out, clutching at each other and shouting for their father.

(Bryan Toews proceeded to take their TV away for a week.)

That morning, on their way out the door to school, they found a dead starling outside their window.

They took one look at it, one look at each other, and took off running.

When they came home, the bird was  _gone_ , and Andrée told them she didn't know anything about it.

David insists to this day that the other birds came back and took it, as a warning to them, to not fuck with birds.

(Jonny thinks his dad must have cleaned it up, but David's idea looks pretty promising, too.)

When he turns 18, Bryan and Andrée give him [the Hitchcock Masterpiece Collection](http://www.amazon.com/Alfred-Hitchcock-The-Masterpiece-Collection/dp/B000A1INJE), and make them watch the film again.

Jonny spends most of it with his eyes shut.

> _three_.

Jonny had always wanted to go to Australia, until he learned about the birds. Pat told him about them, when they were rooming together one trip, just spouting off inane shit to keep himself occupied.

"What?" Jonny had said, not really paying attention while he looks through their stats, watches replays, figures out where they could be stronger.

"No, dude, seriously, in Australia, these fuckers just swoop down and attack people.  They call it 'swooping season' and there are actual guides and shit about not getting attacked."

"Bullshit, Pat."

"No, seriously!  I'll show you," and Pat just clambered over to Jon's bed and googled "swooping season" and clicked on the first article, [ _How to Survive Magpie Swooping Season_](http://www.lifehacker.com.au/2013/08/how-to-survive-magpie-swooping-season/).

What the  _fuck_.

"What," he had said, voice cracking a little, "why do they do that? Do they do that here? Pat?"

"Jesus, Jonny - no? I don't think so," Pat answered, blue eyes wide and round, and he reached out to squeeze Jonny's shoulder for a second.

"I don't like birds," Jonny managed, face pale and wan, and Pat had looked like he was going to laugh before he shrugged.

"I don't like 'em much either, dude."

Pat doesn't mention it when he has to wake Jonny up from a nightmare, sweat pouring off him in waves and little sad noises coming from his lips, and he certainly doesn't mention it when Jonny scoots as close to the edge of the bed as he can without falling out and holds on to Pat's wrist until he falls asleep again.

He did mention it to Sharpy, and Sharpy had shrugged. "Everyone is freaked out by something."

> _four_.

"Patrick," he whispered.

"Nnng," Sharpy responded, rolling over to face the wall.  They were sharing a room because Pat wanted to room on his own for a little bit, and Jonny got that, so, Sharpy.

" _Patrick_ ," he whispered again, though this time it's higher pitched and desperate, just enough of the abnormal to make Sharpy rise from sleep.

"Whassit?" he had asked, and Jonny could see that he had rolled over just enough to look at him in the dark.

"There's - there's a  _pigeon_  in the room," Jonny manages, knows that he sounds frantic and panicked but he  _is_ , because they left the door on the balcony open because there was a nice breeze, and there's a  _pigeon_  cooing on the desk.

"It'll go 'way," Sharpy mumbled, rolled over, and appeared to go back to sleep.

" _Patrick Sharp_ ," Jonny warbled, "get that bird out of this room  _right now_."

For some reason it had shocked Sharpy out of bed and he had herded the bird out of the room using a pillow; the bird went, almost petulant, and Sharpy had closed the screen door to keep anything else out.

He laid back down, facing Jonny this time, watching him breathe quick and shallow and then he had sighed.

Sharpy lifted up his blanket and shaken it. "Get in."

Jonny made no move to get in, because  _Sharpy_ , but it's tempting, so tempting, and Sharpy had shaken the blanket one more time and Jonny fumbled out of his bed and into Sharpy's.

Sharpy just tossed an arm over him and snuffled into his pillow and fell back asleep, leaving Jonny to surreptitiously scoot closer until his face was tucked into Sharpy's shoulder.

Sharpy didn't say anything in the morning, just let Jonny wake up in waves until he was breathing against Sharpy's shoulder, deep and sweet, until he got out of bed slowly, looking to make sure the bird was gone.

He tells Abby, later, and he could hear the smile in her voice as she talks about Jonny in a way that makes Sharpy smile, too.

Abby calls him a darling. Sharpy has to agree.

> _five_.

"Nope, no, not happening," Jonny shouted, sprinted down the street, and managed to duck into the waiting SUV, all the while avoiding the pigeons fluttering around, waiting for people to drop them some food.

Fucking NYC pigeons. Flappy, parasite-ridden, terrifying  _bastards_.

Of course, they captured it all on camera, so as soon as he got back to Chicago all the guys chirped him about it mercilessly, everyone but Kaner and Sharpy.

Sharpy must see it bothers him, because halfway through Biscuit's chirp he stands up and cuffs Biscuit hard enough on the shoulder to make him wince. "Knock it the fuck off."  He said it with a smile, all teeth, which was even more unnerving.

"Um," Biscuit managed, but doesn't say anything else.  No one says anything else, not until after practice and Sharpy loiters around, waiting for Jonny to finish packing up his stuff.

"Burritos?" Sharpy had asked, heaving his own bag over his shoulder, eyebrows raised, and it's not in his season diet, but - Sharpy looked so damn earnest that he couldn't say no.

They were really good burritos, until a little sparrow hopped up to them and landed on the chair next to them, looking for crumbs.

"Sharpy," Jonny whispered, inching closer to him, trying not to be obvious, "Sharpy,  _please_."

"Yeah," Sharpy said, and waved his free hand at the sparrow until it flew away, not even batting an eye as Jonny settles back down, doesn't make an effort to move away.

They had finished their burritos and were picking at their chips when Sharpy had hooked a foot around Jonny's ankle, easy and languid.

Jonny looked at him, his eyes wide, and Sharpy smiled and popped another chip into his mouth.

"Abby thinks you're the sweetest thing," he told him, soft, so other people didn't hear.

Jonny blushed and didn't say anything, and Sharpy knows that Jonny is aware of what he means, aware of what it meant when they hadn't even bothered to use the other bed in the hotel rooms they shared since the night with the pigeon.

Sharpy would just hold open the blankets and Jonny would crawl in, sprawl over him, press his mouth to the skin where he can feel Sharpy's heart beat, a steady sound that when he wakes up at night, it lulls him back to sleep.

He knew what it meant when Abby and Sharpy invited him to Thunder Bay, where they have a lake house, and what it meant when he went to the guest room only to find that it was an office, now, and Abby took his hand in hers and lead him to  _their_  room.

He knew what it meant when instead of waking up to Sharpy, he woke up to Abby.

(Abby is totally capable of chasing off the crows that like to hang about on the deck. Jonny  _loathes_  them.)

> _plus one_.

He wakes up pressed against Patrick's back, arm slung over his waist; he doesn't remember getting back to his apartment last night after the bar crawl, but they  _must_  have, because this is very much Jonny's bed.

Patrick and Abby do not have ivory sheets.

The sun is weak, not all the way up, yet, and he can feel the hangover simmering at the back of his skull; it's not as bad as it could be, though.  His mouth tastes like beer and Rumchata and cinnamon gum, so sometime in the night he must have been excessively kissing Patrick where no one could see.

There are hickeys dotting Patrick's shoulders; those are his.  There are more under his collarbone; those are Abby's.

He has his own, all across his chest (Abby's) and on his hips (Patrick's).  There are bruises, too, from the games, some of which have mellowed out to greenish-yellow and others that are still vivid purple.

He presses his mouth against Patrick's shoulder, just his lips, but then his tongue and teeth, until Patrick begins to wake up.

"Nng," Patrick manages, never coherent when he first starts to come around, but enough so that he slaps around a hand until he finds Jonny's hip and squeezes it.

"Good morning, Stanley Cup Champion," Jonny says, but it's more of an outtake of breath against Patrick's skin.

"Time'sit?"

"Eightish."

"More sleep," Patrick grunts, and rolls over to flop himself on top of Jonny, leg thrown over his hips.  Jonny doesn't complain.

He doesn't complain until there's a tapping against his window and he opens his eyes to find a mourning dove looking in at them.

"Patrick," he says, "there's a dove outside the window."

Patrick mumbles something but his face is mashed against Jonny's neck and his pillow, but it sounds suspiciously like "ignore it."

Jonny can't - he can't  _ignore_  the stupid bird; it's a disgusting, creepy voyeur on what could be a nice, slow bout of morning sex, and then breakfast with Abby and Madelyn.

(He vaguely remembers trying to get Abby to sleep with them, but she had smiled and said "I am not a Cup champion, sweetness," and went to do  _something_  motherly while he and Patrick and the team got grossly intoxicated.)

So Jonny does the next best thing, aside from waking Patrick up more and making him take care of the bird.  He reaches over Patrick and grabs bottle of Tylenol on the nightstand and chucks it at the window.

It makes a nice, loud bang and startles the dove off the windowsill.  It also wakes Patrick up completely, enough that he glares down at Jonny for a minute until he flops back down on top of him.

"That deserves a reward," Patrick finally says, and when Jonny gives him a questioning look, he goes on to say, "since you took care of the bird yourself. Reward."

Jonny blushes.

"Morning blowjob or rimjob?" Patrick asks, and Jonny makes a very unmanly noise and Patrick hums before answering himself. "Both, then."

When Abby comes back in to tell them that there are pancakes, Jonny's on his knees with his arms spread, grinning lazily and spent, and Patrick's stroking up and down his back.

"Really?" she asks, her hands on her hips, "you couldn't have waited until after breakfast?"

"Stanley Cup Champions," Patrick croons, pressing a kiss to the dimples in Jonny's back just above his hips, "and the captain deserves a reward."

"The captain shouldn't throw things at the window, even if it was a bird," Abby says, but grins.  "Come on. Madelyn wants to go see the ducks at the zoo."

Jonny opens one eye and looks at her before closing it again, still in the afterglow of a really good orgasm.

Abby rolls her eyes.  "Stanley Cup Champions don't need to come, they just need to get up for breakfast."

"I'll go if we can see the bears this time," Jonny mutters against the mattress.

He can feel Patrick and Abby exchanging glances over his head.

"Okay," Patrick says, "if you're sure."

Jonny reaches back and grips Patrick's knee.  "You'll protect me."

"'Course we will," Patrick says, "even if you do scream like a little girl."

Jonny pinches him, hard.

Ducks aren't so bad.

Geese, on the other hand, are a plague.


End file.
